Bradstreet’s Disaster: Rocky River’s Most Historic (and Unlucky) Moment

Long before Cleveland’s skyline reflected off the waters of Lake Erie, and way before Rocky River became known for lush parks, winding trails, and a welcoming harbor, this stretch of shoreline witnessed one of Ohio’s most dramatic—and downright unlucky—military moments.

It was October 18, 1764. A moonless night. A quiet beach 1.7 miles west of what we now call Rocky River. And 1,500 exhausted soldiers were about to be hit with the worst wake-up call imaginable.

This was Bradstreet’s Disaster.

The Mission

The man in charge was Colonel John Bradstreet, a British officer fresh off his victory at Fort Frontenac. In late summer of 1764, he set out with 2,300 men—a mix of British regulars, provincial troops, and Native allies—on what was initially a military campaign to suppress Pontiac’s Rebellion.

But by the time Bradstreet launched from Fort Niagara, most of the fighting had fizzled. The new plan? Less battle, more diplomatic cleanup. His orders now included reinforcing forts, negotiating with once-hostile tribes, retrieving captives, and documenting the still-wild Great Lakes frontier.

The expedition stopped briefly along the Cuyahoga and Rocky rivers in August, including a camp near today’s Bradstreet’s Landing. So far, so good.

The return trip? Not so much.

The Wave

After a long pause at Fort Sandusky, the expedition began its return to Fort Niagara. As fall weather closed in, Bradstreet urged his men to keep moving. On the night of October 18, they neared the mouth of the Rocky River. While it was usually a decent harbor, by nightfall, it was a mess—shallow, rocky, and lined with sand spits.

Too risky to navigate in the dark.

Instead, they opted for a nearby beach—just west of the river mouth—what we now know as Bradstreet’s Landing Park. Cold, wet, and assuming they’d found shelter, the troops dragged only their bedding, tents, and food from the boats. The rest—including most supplies—stayed aboard the 60 bateaux and 9 canoes.

And then Lake Erie said, “Absolutely not.”

Without warning, a powerful seiche wave—a sudden surge caused by air pressure or wind shifts—slammed the beach. It wrecked 25 boats, damaged many more, and swept much of their remaining supplies into the cold black lake.

The Aftermath

The next three days were full-on survival mode.

With too few boats left, about 500 men had to march the rest of the way - through cold, rain, mud, and general 18th-century misery. The rest rowed in overcrowded vessels, swapping out with the marchers at predetermined camps.

The overland group endured storms, tent fires, trees falling onto their shelters (because, why not?), and near-starvation. One unfortunate soldier died after mistaking hemlock for wild parsnip—a foraging fail of the highest order.

Despite rumors, that was the only confirmed fatality. But it’s safe to say everyone left with a story.

By November 4, the final stragglers reached Fort Erie. The mission was technically complete—but the scars (emotional and otherwise) would linger.

The Fallout

Back home, instead of getting a medal, Bradstreet got heat.

Sir William Johnson, the British Superintendent of Indian Affairs, was furious. He accused Bradstreet of overstepping by making formal treaties rather than simply “making peace.” And worse, he blamed him for not taking shelter in the Rocky River itself—ignoring the fact that, in the dark, it would’ve been more shipwreck than safe harbor.

Bradstreet's military reputation survived. He was promoted, but never formally titled “General John Bradstreet” in the modern sense. He held the rank of Deputy Quartermaster General and Colonel, and was often referred to as "General" informally due to the nature of British colonial command structures. But the name of the beach—and the history books—would forever link him to one of the more chaotic and costly moments of early Ohio exploration.

Why It Still Matters

Today, Bradstreet’s Landing Park is quiet. Scenic. Peaceful. Walkers stroll its paths. Kids run on the grass. The only wave most people worry about is the one lapping at their paddleboard.

But if you pause for a moment and close your eyes, you might hear it: the groan of a bateau hull. The crack of canvas tents. A few muttered curses in 18th-century English. And the distant sound of a commander wondering, not for the first time, how in the world he was going to fix this.

Welcome to Bradstreet’s Disaster—Rocky River’s most historic (and most relatable) moment.